“I like to take my breakfast on the veranda, in the humid morning air, while reading The Nation. That way I know exactly how to abuse its editor during our daily exchange. A national newspaper, to my mind, should have priorities.”
“Being armchair tourists suited us down to the ground. We used to say that it would be cool to actually go somewhere, to feel the Pimlico breeze on our skin, to go shopping in downtown Happyland, to make friends in Dirty Butter Creek.”
“A dusting of snow had fallen over the village and a green curtain of electric light rippled across the sky.”
“If only he could strike a lode of silver in here and get the hell out. Get out of Potosi, and if possible, get out of Bolivia altogether.”
The beauty of the world cannot be expressed in one language alone, always the same. And a poem by Anne Hébert can even speak to the goof-off seated in the last row of the class of a regular high school in a Danish village.